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For 30 days in India I wore only one pair of pants. I washed them in a river, once. I rode a camel. I slept in the desert, spilled rum all over them, walked through a slum street that literally ran red with the blood of over 1000 goats, kept my passport in my pocket in the middle of the largest den of pick-pockets, and hiked through thorn-bush filled ruins. After 30 days these pick-pocket proof pants earned not only their name, in my book, but also made me one of the most fashionable young men in all of India.
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